


Wouldst Thou Have a Serpent Sting Thee Twice

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a kinky bastard, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breathplay, Cloaca, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Happy, Hemipenes, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Bites, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), PMS where the S stands for shedding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wet Dream, Wings, and the P stands for...psnake, it's always the quiet ones, jk it stands for pre, the M stands for mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: After that, it’s all a blur. He’s pulled inside and stripped quickly, guided to the floor on some kind of soft, plush surface, in the complete darkness. All he knows is that Crowley is with him, around him, everywhere, his hands and mouth and tail touching him all over.🐍After they get together, Aziraphale finds out he doesn't mind Crowley's snake-like attributesat all. Too bad Crowley has no idea, and he doesn't know how to tell him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 268
Kudos: 756
Collections: Best Aziraphale and Crowley, Courts GO Re-Reads, Crowley's Demonic Side, Snektember 2020, Top Crowley Library





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This is my filthy contribution to [Snektember](https://puppy-bums.tumblr.com/post/626849798166904832/welcome-to-snektember-like-september-but-make-it) 🐍
> 
> I've never tried publishing a fic before I've written the whole thing, but this way I can take suggestions and feedback! Isn't this exciting? ~~No Cham omg what are you doing please stop.~~ Tags to be updated as the story develops.
> 
> Updates on Sunday 🌞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts used: sunbathing and naps.

He hadn’t known what being happy felt like until now.

He had known what it felt like to be content with what he had. To relax with a cup of cocoa in the dead of winter, to feel comforted by the presence of his books all around him. But never what it felt like to be truly happy.

It’s a wonderful feeling.

In the morning, Aziraphale doesn’t watch the sun rise wondering whether he’ll get a strongly worded note from Heaven. He doesn’t turn around at the tinkling of a miracle wondering whether it’ll be Gabriel or another angel come to check on his behaviour. He’s not afraid of being taken away from this world he loves so dearly anymore.

He wakes up in the morning - yes, he sleeps now - puts on his fluffy house shoes, and walks around the bed to kiss his sleeping demon’s hair. Crowley always makes a grumbling noise, which Aziraphale has learned means both _good morning_ and _five more minutes_.

He walks down the stairs, makes himself a cup of tea, and sits by the window, looking out into the garden Crowley is growing outside their cottage.

In a way, this is their own little Eden, except no apple is forbidden here.

He rinses his cup when he’s done, because he likes doing it. It’s nice, living like humans, not drawing any attention to themselves. It’s peaceful.

He passes a mirror hanging in the hallway and spots the purple love bite Crowley left on his neck last night. Another thing he could have miracled away but that he’ll keep instead, because he enjoys the way it looks.

It took a moment to convince Crowley he wasn’t made of glass, at first. When they first reached for one another Crowley was careful, reverent even, scared of hurting him. Aziraphale, though, _oh_ \- he wanted him so much he was weak it, wanted nothing more than to feel Crowley’s nails digging into his skin, his hands pulling his hair, his teeth sinking into his neck. He was ravenous, he wanted to feel everything there was to feel.

They found a happy medium, and things have been going swimmingly since then.

In the afternoons, Aziraphale tends to his library while Crowley sees to the garden. Needless to say, it’s the most luscious garden in the entire village, and the angel has had to smile threateningly at a few old ladies who wouldn’t mind their own business more than once.

Sometimes, the angel misses this or that restaurant in London, so he orders takeout. The delivery people are always very confused when they get there, convinced their restaurant didn’t do deliveries this far out of the city - or didn’t do deliveries _at all_ \- but Aziraphale always tips them handsomely and sends them on their merry way with a little blessing for good luck.

He’s just finished setting the table for dinner when he realises Crowley hasn’t come back yet from the garden. Not a problem - their food will keep perfectly for as long as Aziraphale wants it to, but maybe it’s a good idea to go out and remind him it’s dinnertime.

He spots a shock of red hair behind the greenhouse - realises Crowley must have fallen asleep again by the bright pink and blue hydrangeas, basking in the sun. 

“Darling, it’s late already, would you—”

All words abandon him when he takes in the sight of his demon. Crowley is indeed fast asleep in the sun, the gentle waves of his shoulder-length hair a fiery halo around his head, soft snores escaping his parted lips with every breath. He’s so lovely.

But he’s, also, a snake.

Well, part snake. Where his legs should be there’s a beautiful long tail instead, matte black scales climbing all the way up to his hipbones. There, they begin to scatter, forming a v on either side of Crowley’s navel. His shirt has hiked up to show off his midriff, his chest rising and falling slowly as he sleeps peacefully.

His nails have turned into long, dark claws, and Aziraphale is willing to bet if the demon were awake his eyes would be yellow from corner to corner.

It’s, well. It’s a terribly attractive look on him, if Aziraphale has to be perfectly honest. The angel spends more than a few moments just staring, taking in the sight of Crowley’s magnificent snake tail - it looks so smooth and strong, like it could just coil around someone until they could hardly breathe, and—

“Mphngh?” Crowley wakes up with a start, eyes entirely molten gold. He tries to prop himself up on his hands, accidentally squashes part of his tail with his palm, jerks back - doesn’t fall only because he’s already on the ground. “Shit _fuckfuckfuck_.”

The next moment, he has legs again. And he’s wearing the same dungarees Aziraphale saw him miracle on in the morning, the bib folded down over his front.

“Crowley, are you—”

“Sorry you had to see that.” The demon gets his dark glasses from somewhere in the grass, pushes them up on his nose until his eyes are completely hidden. As if Aziraphale hasn’t been able to see right through him for centuries. “Fell asleep. Won’t happen again.”

“My dear, I…” Aziraphale shakes his head, drops to one knee to take one of Crowley’s hands in his. “What are you apologising for? You are splendid in any form. I, well—actually, I liked seeing you like that.”

“Really?” Crowley pulls back in surprise and stares at him. He has half a smirk on his face and his eyebrows raised, as if waiting for the moment Aziraphale will laugh and tell him he’s just kidding. “Doesn’t it remind you I’m a vile demon, a hellish beast, a foul fiend?”

Aziraphale feels a little guilty about that. He never meant for his little jabs to undermine Crowley’s confidence. Although he suspects that what hurt the most were the years Crowley spent waiting around for him to realise that just because he’s a demon, it doesn’t mean he’s necessarily evil.

Aziraphale shakes his head. He’s been such a fool.

“Not at all. It reminds me the demon I love is powerful, and fearsome, and possibly even capable of overpowering me if he’d tried, and—”

“Careful there, angel.” Crowley’s expression has shifted into something sharper, a knowing little grin on his face. “You’re making it sound like you might even be attracted to me in that form.”

“Well, maybe I am.” Aziraphale looks down at Crowley’s legs - Crowley’s beautiful, slender, endless legs, and admits to himself the demon’s long black tail was just as fascinating. “Anyway, I came to tell you our dinner has arrived, if you’d like to come inside.”

“Sure.” Crowley stands up, pats down his clothes as if they would ever dare pick up dust or dirt on them. Aziraphale turns around to walk back into the house, but the demon stops him, hugging him from behind and letting his snake tongue flicker along the nape of his neck. Aziraphale barely manages to stop a most indecent noise before it escapes his lips. “Let’s go have dinner.”

* * *

He’s lost track of time, but it must be quite late by the time Aziraphale puts down his book and decides he’ll join Crowley in bed until morning.

He’s climbing up the stairs that lead to their bedroom when he realises there’s a dark hallway to the right that wasn’t there before. Which isn’t completely impossible, in a house whose rooms grow and contract based on their whims, but it is highly unusual. Aziraphale expands his perception to search for Crowley and, sure enough, finds him somewhere along that hallway.

He doesn’t consider turning on the lights as he walks into this new part of their home. If Crowley’s in there, it’s perfectly safe - and, actually, this surprise is more than a little thrilling. His heart is already racing in his chest.

“Crowley?” He calls, feeling his presence close by.

A door creaks open to his left. Very little moonlight filters through the windows, but it’s just enough to see Crowley’s outstretched hand reaching out, two clawed fingers gesturing at him to come closer.

Aziraphale tries to swallow around an exceptionally dry throat.

He turns towards the door, extends his arm, grasps Crowley’s fingers, and can’t help an excited little shriek as he draws him in.

After that, it’s all a blur. He’s pulled inside and stripped quickly, guided to the floor on some kind of soft, plush surface, in the complete darkness. All he knows is that Crowley is with him, around him, everywhere, his hands and mouth and tail touching him all over.

He goes down more than willingly when those firm hands push him on his knees, face down, arse up, naked and exposed. A strong, smooth tail wraps around his chest and holds him still while Crowley’s tongue licks right into him, stretching him open. Saliva starts dripping down his thighs, and Aziraphale can’t do a thing about it. It’s filthy, and it’s perfect, and all he can do is cry out and take it.

Crowley spreads him open with both hands, and in no time at all Aziraphale’s cock is so hard it hurts, bouncing uselessly against his stomach with every thrust of the demon’s tongue inside him.

He tries to speak, tries to ask what’s going on, tries to beg for more - the very end of the demon’s tail curls around the corner of his mouth, pushes inside, stuffs it full until all Aziraphale can do is let out helpless, muffled moans around it.

Crowley’s tongue keeps hitting the most delicious spot inside him over and over, and Aziraphale realises he’s going to come from it. Very, very soon, he’s going to come from being put down on his knees and eaten out like prey, his mouth full and his weeping cock completely untouched, and—

He wakes up with a start.

He sits up in bed, disoriented, realises his cock is tenting the sheets in the most obvious way.

Maybe he should be ashamed, but his first coherent thought is that it’s a terrible shame to wake up now, he was _so_ close…

“‘ngel?” Crowley, beside him, stirs and shifts closer to him. “You okay?”

“Oh, yes dear, just a dream. Go back to sleep, I won’t bother you.”

Crowley cracks open one eye, then the other. Aziraphale shivers at the sight of his beautiful serpent eyes, remembering his dream, how it felt to have Crowley’s tail wrapped around him.

“Ah, you want help with that?” The demon smirks, fingers already kneading the plump flesh of Aziraphale’s thigh.

“I—well, if you insist,” Aziraphale replies, lying down and turning to his lover. Crowley makes an amused sound but doesn’t point out how he wasn’t insisting at all, he just begins unbuttoning his shirt.

“Want to tell me what you were dreaming about to get you in such a state? Was I there?”

“Of course you were. And well…” Aziraphale squirms as he reaches out to tuck a strand of red hair behind Crowley’s ear. “Maybe another time?”

“Sure,” Crowley mutters against his lips, and Aziraphale can’t help but remembering how his wicked tongue felt inside him. “I’m busy right now anyway.”

Aziraphale giggles at that, his chuckle turning into a moan as Crowley’s clever hands work on him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts used: snuddling (snake cuddling) and drunk.
> 
> I forgot to mention! Title is from Shakespeare's _The Merchant of Venice_ , and if you're curious, yes, Aziraphale would indeed have a snake sting him twice. Or thrice. Make that four times, just to be sure.

Their game of chess ended the moment Crowley placed a wine cork on the board and declared that any piece in close distance would now be drunk and therefore Aziraphale couldn’t use them to eliminate his King.

In hindsight, they were both two sheets to the wind by that point.

They have somehow ended on the carpet, laughing, and Aziraphale isn’t even sure what they’re laughing about anymore, but Crowley has a hand in his hair and his breath is hot against his neck, so he doesn’t care. The bubbling happiness in his chest is reason enough to laugh.

Crowley hiccups against his skin, and Aziraphale is sure the demon would murder him if he knew he just thought that’s very endearing, so he just stares at the ceiling and tries hard not to tell him. He has some trouble holding back any thought that passes through his head when he’s this side of drunk.

Crowley precariously props himself up on an elbow, his warm hand on Aziraphale’s chest, peering down at him.

“You like me.”

Aziraphale chuckles. He reaches up to touch the tip of Crowley’s nose and watches him going cross-eyed. Then he cups his cheek in his hand, and Crowley turns to kiss the heart line that runs across his palm.

“Rather thought that was obvious, you silly snake.”

“That’s not…” Crowley hesitates, rolls his eyes, and lies back down with a grunt, his head over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He presses close against the angel’s side, and that’s when Aziraphale feels it - the slow shape-shifting of Crowley’s legs into the lower body of a serpent. 

He freezes.

“You like me?” Crowley repeats, and this time it’s a question, tentative and shy, though he makes it very obvious what he means, wriggling against his side, the end of his tail lazily wrapping around one of Aziraphale’s ankles.

Aziraphale sobers himself up at the speed of light, even if it leaves his mouth tasting like burnt coffee and ash.

“I-I thought we talked about this, didn’t we, my dear? Just the other day, I’m sure I mentioned I appreciate you in any shape or form. We were in the garden, a-and—” Crowley’s tail is dragging up the leg of his trousers, rubbing against his ankle, and Aziraphale feels heat rushing to his cheeks. He clears his throat before continuing. “What brought this up, anyway? We were having such a lovely night, the wine you picked was remarkable, the perfect pairing to the smoked salmon, don’t you agree? But I think the asparagus had rather too much lemon. I shall tell them, next time I order, I’d be doing them a favour after all.”

There’s no reply at all from Crowley, and Aziraphale doesn’t dare glance down. If he does, he’ll see the smooth scales he’s dreamt about pressed against his side, he’ll spot Crowley’s tail sneaking under the leg of his trousers, and oh Lord, the thought of that, it feels so—

Suddenly, Aziraphale is intensely aware he’s getting hard in his pants. Entirely without his permission, his body has put him in a terribly embarrassing situation. There’s no way Crowley will miss it, they’re lying too close for him not to notice. 

Should he say something? Maybe it’s better if he stays quiet. Maybe there’s still a chance Crowley hasn’t seen. Maybe, if Aziraphale keeps his eyes on the ceiling and tries not to think about how warm his lover feels against his side, if he tries not to remember the entirely inappropriate dream he had the other night, if he stops paying attention to the fact that Crowley is basically resting the entire lower half of his body over him, shifting lazily over him as if - God forgive him - Aziraphale was his for the taking, a helpless prey caught in his coils with no hope to run…

This isn’t working out very well for him, is it? Aziraphale decides he might as well make himself look down and assess the damage.

He can only see the back of Crowley’s head, a mass of unruly red curls on his shoulder, which means the demon’s face has to be turned towards Aziraphale’s feet. Which means there’s no way he has missed the suspicious bulge in the angel’s trousers. Which means Aziraphale has a lot of explaining to do.

But Crowley isn’t saying anything yet, so Aziraphale lets his gaze glide a little lower, to the demon’s magnificent serpent body. He has never been interested in snakes, surely never had inappropriate feelings for them - although he always felt an uncommon fondness for them - but there’s _something_ about seeing Crowley like this. He looks so strong, so beautiful when he’s not restraining himself, when he’s not forcing himself to look like a human. This is a side of himself Crowley has never revealed, not until they were safe here in their cottage, in the new life they made for themselves. There’s a strange new intimacy to the act, a vulnerability Crowley has never allowed himself to show before, and it’s a privilege to be able to witness it.

DId he fear Aziraphale would be disgusted by him? Was he afraid of being rejected? Aziraphale can’t help but think he’s given him ample reason to assume so. He spent a few centuries telling Crowley again and again that an angel and a demon can’t be friends, that they couldn’t be seen together, asking him what the archangels would think if they spotted them sitting side by side on a bench.

That’s a funny thought to have now. Now, Aziraphale almost _wishes_ someone was watching, so he could show them how happy he is here, on the floor of his house with this breath-taking snake draped over him. Now that he can finally indulge in all the things they had forbid him from even trying.

Crowley’s shifting over him distracts him from his thoughts. The demon gives a slow, quiet sigh as he turns to lie on his side. Aziraphale is now able to take a better look at him, and he spots something - something that he’s absolutely sure wasn’t there when he first saw him in the garden. It’s a very slight swelling of his scales, about ten inches lower than his navel. Two parallel, gentle ridges that hide an almost invisible slit in between. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Aziraphale could swear it’s glistening, and the urge to reach out and touch suddenly overwhelms him. Perhaps, if he asks, Crowley will let him…

That’s when he realises Crowley hasn’t said anything for a long time. Good Lord, is he mortally offended? It’s not like his demon to keep quiet for so long.

“I-I can explain, darling—”

Crowley makes a startled sound, something between a snore and a quick intake of air. Is he… was he sleeping this whole time? Aziraphale asks the mirror in the hallway to please, please unhung itself from the wall and come over so he can take a quick look. And indeed, when the mirror floats mid-air over them, he sees right away that Crowley is sleeping peacefully, half-draped over him as he’s wont to do when they’re in bed together.

Aziraphale lets out a relieved sigh. They’re going to have to talk about this, but it’ll be sometime in the future. In the far future. Surely not right now. There’s no rush, is there?

It isn’t exactly comfortable, to lie there and wait for his stubborn hard-on to subside, particularly with Crowley so close. But Aziraphale has learned that living with his demon means that, sometimes, he’s required to be a pillow for him, and to be honest - it’s something he greatly enjoys doing.

After some time, Crowley’s form shifts back into its usual shape, and when he wakes up he doesn’t seem to remember a thing, he just curses abundantly the fact that he forgot to sober up before falling asleep.

Though he does ask how the hallway mirror ended up on the floor next to them. 

Aziraphale shrugs.

* * *

He doesn’t have a lot of books to teach him about snakes specifically, but he does have a few old illustrated encyclopaedias.

Once he sees the Bentley racing away from the window of his library, Aziraphale puts on his nifty little glasses and sits down at the desk, determined to get the answers to some of his questions.

He’s not sure how much time it takes him exactly. When he sets down the last volume he had planned to read his head is swimming with new information and images.

It’s incredible how much he still doesn’t know about this Earth and the creatures that inhabit it, after six thousand years. But then again, Aziraphale has never been good at learning and remembering facts that don’t interest him directly, and he never imagined this one would.

He pushes the chair away from the desk and takes a look around at the mess he’s made, at the many books lying open on tables, chairs and even on the carpet, and sighs. He’s not sure this was actually useful at all - there is no guarantee any of the information he’s found applies to his own beloved snake.

His beautiful, wonderful Crowley. Aziraphale only has to close his eyes to see him lying in the grass, so at ease, completely relaxed, his tail shining under the sun. He can’t believe he’d ever think of himself as anything less than perfect. And if he remembers what happened the other night when they were drunk, how Crowley had laid over him possessively, how he’d stroked his ankle, how his scales had felt against his skin, oh…

He quickly glances back over his shoulder, towards the door, but it looks like he’s still all alone. He relaxes in his chair and lets his mind wander. 

He recalls the feeling of Crowley sinking his teeth into the side of his neck, the delicious, sharp sting of pain. He thinks about Crowley’s hands, so elegant and yet so strong, grasping him at the hips, pulling him back against him, the slap of skin against skin. And what about Crowley’s mouth, that absolutely devilish tongue of his… Aziraphale squirms in his chair as he remembers the time Crowley sat astride him in bed, took hold of his wrist, and slowly sucked on his fingers one by one, until Aziraphale was reduced to begging him, and how—

“Having fun, are we?”

Aziraphale yelps, an automatic miracle closing all the books around him, and he turns around, his glasses askew on his nose. He hadn’t even realised he was palming himself through his trousers.

“Crowley! Oh dear, you startled me.”

The demon stands by the door, taking in the room with an eyebrow raised over his glasses and a smirk on his face. “Didn’t know you actually had pornography in here.”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale shoots back, straightening his bowtie. “Well, I do. That’s not the point. I wasn’t looking at any.”

“Weren’t you?” It seems like it only ever takes Crowley three steps to cross a room on those endless legs of his. He slides easily between Aziraphale’s chair and the desk, leaning back, careful not to bump into any of his books. He puts his boot on the armrest of the angel’s chair, and Aziraphale is cornered.

Not that he minds.

Crowley leans over him, quickly glances down towards his groin. “What were you thinking about, I wonder? You’ve been… distracted, lately.”

“You.” Aziraphale tells him, because it’s the honest truth. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Crowley’s eyebrows draw up in surprise, his expression softening. “Were you now?”

Aziraphale grabs him by the shirt and pulls him down for a kiss to demonstrate. The demon makes an indignant noise against his lips, and Aziraphale can’t help but grin. Yes, he’s just ruined Crowley’s whole act, his pretence of being the depraved demon who’s just caught the innocent angel red-handed - and he was being so good at it too.

It doesn’t matter, the offence is soon forgotten. Aziraphale runs his hands through Crowley’s hair and the demon moans and deepens the kiss, his boot sliding off the chair as he pulls loose the tartan bowtie around the angel’s neck. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, breaks the kiss to attack his throat with tongue and teeth, and Aziraphale hums in pleasure.

Soon enough Crowley is slithering off of him and onto the floor, graceful and serpentine, on his knees between Aziraphale’s thighs. He discards his glasses and presses his cheek to the soft material of the angel’s trousers. He looks up smirking, his bare golden eyes pinning Aziraphale to the spot, and Aziraphale _burns_.

“Crowley,” he gasps, already breathing hard though they’ve barely done a thing. Because Crowley is simply too much to handle - too beautiful, too precious, too dear to him, too disarmingly attractive, and all Aziraphale can do is stare at him like a helpless fool, wondering if he knows how much he’s in his hands. "Crowley, I want to tell you something…”

But Crowley, who can’t have any idea what’s going on inside his head, stretches his fingers wide on Aziraphale’s thighs, his snake tongue peeking out for a brief moment to lick at the corner of his lips. “Talk later, yeah?”

Aziraphale swallows and nods and loses all his words the moment Crowley’s hands reach the fly of his trousers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts used: shedding/molting and mating rituals.

There was only one thing Crowley had asked for himself when they moved in together.

Contrary to what Aziraphale had expected, Crowley hadn’t protested the stacks of books on the coffee table, the novels on the bedside tables ( _both_ bedside tables), the cookbooks in the kitchen. Despite being used to a flat that barely had any furniture in it, he hadn’t complained once about Aziraphale’s general messiness, or about the knick-knacks all over the place. He’d teased him about how one day his books would gang up against him and seek revenge for the way he mistreated them, and that had been it.

He’d only asked for one thing: his own bathroom. Aziraphale couldn’t understand why. Technically, they didn’t need any bathroom at all, he just liked having one so he could take bubble baths. And, in the mornings, look in the mirror as he brushed his hair and put on cologne, which he thought was a charming human habit.

Still, Crowley had asked for nothing else, so Aziraphale had readily agreed. The demon’s bathroom downstairs is a large, dark room. The walls have been painted a green so dark it’s almost black. A mirror covers one wall completely, with a sleek obsidian washbasin fixed in the centre. On the opposite end of the room an entire section of the floor is the colour of sand, with a surface that is jagged and rough, harsh against the soles of the feet. Aziraphale has never understood its function, but he’s decided not to question it. It isn’t easy for two beings who have lived apart for so many years to suddenly merge their lives, and he had been prepared to be tolerant.

However, his demon has been locked in the bathroom for two entire days now, and Aziraphale is beginning to worry.

“Crowley?” He knocks on the door, rocking on his feet as he waits. “Darling, are you alright? Do you need anything at all?”

“I’m fine!” Crowley’s voice sounds strained, and Aziraphale frowns at the closed door. “Stop worrying about me, don’t you have something else to do?”

The angel gives an annoyed sigh. “Well, forgive me for being concerned about you, you’ve been in there since Thursday. I thought it was quite reasonable to check on you, but I apologise for disturbing whatever important business you’re conducting in there. I shall leave you alone now.”

“Angel, wait…” There’s shuffling inside the bathroom, and when he speaks again, Crowley’s voice seems to be coming from much closer to the door. “I’m fine. I am, really. But I’m going to be here a while, and then I think I’ll take a trip. Just a few days.”

“A trip? Where?”

“Don’t know, I’ll figure it out. The point is - there’s nothing you need to be worried about.” More shuffling, and Crowley’s voice becomes distant again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Aziraphale knocks on the door again, much harder this time. “Crowley, let me in right now.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because! You’ll just freak out over nothing.”

Aziraphale gasps out loud. “Crowley?! What is there to freak out about?”

There’s a frustrated groan on the other side of the door, then nothing. The angel counts the second ticking by as the silence stretches. At ten, he’ll force the door open. At nine, Crowley speaks again. “Fine, okay. But you’ll have to promise to stay calm.”

“I would be _perfectly_ calm if I knew what was going on.” Aziraphale huffs out, lips forming a pout the demon can’t see. “Please, Crowley, let me in.”

At that, the door finally unlocks.

Aziraphale walks in, the light from the opening door breaching the almost complete darkness of the room. As his eyes adjust, he sees a few black feathers scattered on the floor, and in a corner of the room, on the sand-coloured section of the floor, there’s Crowley, his wings wrapped tightly around him.

Aziraphale promised he’d stay calm, so he doesn’t ask again what’s going on, he doesn’t run, but he moves quickly to reach his demon and kneel beside him, extending a hand to stroke Crowley’s black feathers. Crowley closes his eyes and leans closer to him, as if that simple contact feels extremely soothing, his wings relaxing just enough to show the black tail underneath.

“It happens sometimes.” Crowley says, quietly. “M’a snake. I have to shed.”

Aziraphale can now see that the demon’s beautiful tail looks damaged in places, flakes of dry skin peeling off all over.

“I see.” Slowly but determinedly, Aziraphale wedges himself between Crowley and the wall. He wraps his arms around him from behind, careful of his wings, and Crowley breathes out and leans back against him. The angel strokes his bare sides in a way he hopes Crowley finds comforting. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Not quite. There are some side effects. I feel weaker. And _definitely_ more irritable.”

“I could tell.” Aziraphale makes an amused sound. “Is that why you locked yourself in here?”

“Yes. No. Well, yes, but not just because of that.” Crowley curls in on himself, chin to chest, as if trying to make himself smaller. “This is part of a cycle, Aziraphale. And when I’m done shedding, I’ll want—I’ll look for, ah… well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll be out of your hair by then.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale holds him closer. “This is your home. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“You don’t understand, Aziraphale. I’m going to—I will—” Crowley hesitates, and Aziraphale presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s because you’re so close. It’s why I’ve been turning without meaning to.”

“Well, I think you’re perfectly lovely.”

Crowley gives a frustrated grunt. “I’m not a hamster, angel. I’m a _snake._ You should be afraid. You’re so—so soft, and you smell so nice.”

“Why, thank you.”

“And _so_ warm, you’re just— _appetising_ , and if I let the snake take over, which it will anyway as soon as I’m done shedding, it’s going to try and take a bite of you.”

“Why, I hope so.” It’s out before Aziraphale realises. He was so focused on reassuring Crowley everything’s okay that the confession he’s been holding back for days slips out without his permission. Aziraphale stiffens, trapped between the wall and Crowley’s penetrating golden gaze, one yellow eye staring at him from over his shoulder.

“What did you just say?”

“I…” Aziraphale clears his throat, decides it’s time to let it out. “It’s what I wanted to tell you the other day, actually. That I’d be interested, that is. When you’re—oh, Crowley, don’t look at me like that. You should know you’re attractive in any form by now.”

Crowley blinks once, very slowly. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know how snakes—I would hunt you down, Aziraphale. I would find you, and I would attempt to wrestle you into submission. I would wrap myself around you as tight as I can—I might even choke you a little.” Crowley’s voice becomes smaller, lower. “I might hurt you. I don’t know. Never done this before.”

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale brushes his hair off his face and lays a kiss on his cheekbone. “You do know that I could throw you off easily as anything, don’t you?”

“Didn’t have to add _easily_ ,” Crowley mutters.

“And maybe, I… well, maybe I want to try that. The… hunting and the wrestling, and all that.”

“You do?” The demon turns around in his arms, wings disappearing as he moves to face Aziraphale. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean that, angel, because that’d be—”

“I mean it.” Aziraphale spots Crowley’s tail twitching, almost _wagging_ , but is wise enough not to point that out. “I wanted to tell you since I first saw you by the hydrangeas. But I—I thought you’d be horrified at the thought.”

“I thought you would be disgusted by me.” For a moment, they just stare at each other. “Are we both idiots?”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Maybe.”

Crowley leans back against him once more, the full length of his long body unfurling in front of him as he relaxes. Now Aziraphale realises what the jagged surface of the floor is for, Crowley can rub his tail against it and easily get rid of the old skin.

“Can you stay a moment?” Crowley asks as he puts his hands over Aziraphale’s on his chest. The angel closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the side of his head.

“I don’t see why not.”

* * *

Aziraphale blinks himself awake and is surprised to realise he must have dozed off. That’s Crowley’s thing - now that they’re retired he’s turned napping into a full-fledged hobby, falling asleep on any flat surface. But, now that he thinks about, Aziraphale hasn’t slept at all since Crowley locked himself in the bathroom two days ago, preferring to be alert. Maybe he’s got more used to this human habit than he thought, and he needed the nap. And to think he always teases Crowley for it…

Speaking of which, the demon has his head tilted back and his face pressed right under Aziraphale’s chin. His tail is coiled around one of the angel’s legs, in a lazy, rhythmic squeeze. Aziraphale slowly realises he has to be awake, because he keeps flicking his tongue against his neck - tasting him?

When Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder, Crowley startles.

“I wasn’t—”

The angel cuts him off with a kiss, to which Crowley responds enthusiastically - just like Aziraphale thought he would, now that he knows all he knows about snakes and can interpret the signs.

He slides his hand farther down, fingertips skimming lightly along Crowley’s arm, then onto his hip, and finally closer to the centre of him, to the telltale swelling that signals he’s aroused and available, that he’s been aroused and available for a while as Aziraphale slept.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley hisses, as if he can’t believe he would do this. But Aziraphale would, of course he would, he’s been thinking about little else for days. Crowley’s long body immediately responds to the touch, swaying towards the angel’s fingers even as he looks at him wide-eyed, uncertain. He’s irresistible.

“I can’t wait to learn all about you all over again,” Aziraphale murmurs as he kisses his cheek, caressing around the edges of what he’s learned is called a _cloaca_.

“ _Aziraphale_ —” Crowley moans, biting into his bottom lip as he visibly forces himself not to push against the angel’s hand. “If you keep doing that, they’ll—they’ll come out, I can’t stop them, they’ll—”

“Let them,” Aziraphale replies, before very pointedly stroking harder.

“ _Hnngh_ ,” Crowley holds tightly to the angel’s arm as his hemipenes evert out of him, glistening wet and hard. With no hesitation whatsoever, Aziraphale wraps his hand around one of them and starts stroking. “Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ , oh—” Crowley keens as he reaches behind to cling to Aziraphale, his taut body tensing into a beautiful arch, his tail frantically trying to press their bodies impossibly closer, tightening around the angel’s thigh and leg.

Crowley bites hard into the side of his neck and Aziraphale moans out loud, his own cock, trapped inside his trouser, throbbing hard in response. He jerks faster, fingers sliding easily on the smooth, reddened length of Crowley’s cock. It pulses and dribbles sticky white fluid onto his fingers, the sight of which makes Aziraphale want to turn him over and suck him off right there on the bathroom floor.

He drags his gaze up to seek his lover’s face, and Crowley seems to be completely gone already, drunk with pleasure, writhing in his arms. His golden eyes are half-closed, his lips are parted as he pants, his forked tongue peeking out between his fangs. Aziraphale bends in to lick along his bottom lip, which makes Crowley cry out and twist to kiss him again, surely bending in ways that would be impossible if he wasn’t part reptile.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes against his lips, helpless to stop himself, “Oh, I want to see all of you, you gorgeous thing. I want you to come find me and wrap yourself around me as tight as you’d like. I want to feel everything - your teeth, your mouth, your tongue all over me, I want you to hold me down and do of me what you will.”

“Angel—” One of Crowley’s hand is squeezing his arm, the other is gripping his shoulder so tight it almost hurts. “Please, angel, please—”

“Yes, my darling, I’m here, I’m yours, let go whenever you’re ready.” He runs his thumb over the slick head of the demon’s cock, his other hand reaching down to find the second penis and squeeze it. “Let me see you, Crowley.”

Crowley comes in one hissing breath, a series of shuddering pulses that leave Aziraphale’s fingers wet and sticky. It leaks all over Crowley’s scales, the white of his spend dripping down his body and onto the floor as he struggles to breathe.

Aziraphale presses his lips against the demon’s temple, waiting for him to come back. Crowley seems to have melted in his arms, red curls a tangled mess, his slender chest heaving as his tail twitches in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Fuck,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth as he gathers himself and looks up at the angel, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. “That was incredible.”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Thank you. Should I do the other one, I could—”

“No _no_ , don’t.” Crowley hisses as he cleans away the mess with a snap of his fingers. “I’m too weak right now, I can’t take it.” He smiles up at Aziraphale, a small little grin full of promise. “But, soon.”

“Alright, dear.” The angel kisses his forehead and begins dislodging himself from his spot between Crowley and the wall. He adjusts his trousers as he stands up, his erection uncomfortable inside his underwear.

“Do you need a hand with _that_? I’m not too weak for it.”

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale smooths down his shirt, smiling down at his lover. “I want to keep it for a while. When you’ll come find me it’ll be all the sweeter.”

“ _Ngk_. Alright then.” Crowley relaxes back into his corner, tail swishing against the floor.

“Can I do anything else for you while you wait? Bring you anything?”

Crowley tilts his head to the side and shrugs.

“Cuppa tea would be nice.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts used: seductive and feral.

Aziraphale tries to take care of Crowley’s plants for him while he’s indisposed. He doesn’t do a very good job of it, because he’s too distracted fantasising about what’s going to happen when Crowley will finally be done shedding.

Where should he be waiting for him? The bedroom seems like the obvious choice. But he’d have no objections to being taken in the kitchen, maybe bent over a counter and fucked within an inch of his life. Nor would he mind if Crowley decided to have his way with him right by the rosebush, where he’d have to smother his moans against the back of his fist, lest the neighbours heard.

He catches himself almost watering his Blake first editions and decides Crowley’s plants will do much better if he doesn’t even try.

Should he wear something special? He doesn’t really own any properly ‘sexy’ clothes, not like Crowley does, but the demon mentioned something about him being soft, and he could make himself even softer. He does have silk nightgowns, velvet trousers for special occasions, shirts with frills and dozens of little buttons his serpent could pop off. Or maybe he should give Crowley more to play with? He has sock garters, shirt stays, and neckties he wouldn’t mind at all seeing digging into the flesh of his wrists or ankles.

After an entire day spent accomplishing exactly nothing, Aziraphale decides to give it a rest. He’ll go about his business as usual, and Crowley will find him wherever he finds him. And that’s exciting too, to think that his demon might be about to pounce on him at any moment.

* * *

He’s in bed when it finally happens.

It’s the dead of the night, and he’s settled into their bedroom with a book in his lap, very comfortable in his good old pyjamas. It’s lightning and thundering outside, but not yet raining. The abat-jour on the bedside table casts a warm, golden light across the room, and Aziraphale feels perfectly content.

He’s distracted from his reading by the creaking of the stairs, loud enough that he can hear it even through the closed door of the bedroom. He swallows. He’s been waiting for this for days, and the thought that it’s finally happening makes his stomach do funny things. He raises his gaze from the book, heart already pounding in his chest.

From where he’s sitting, he doesn’t have a full view of the door in front of him. He doesn’t mind. He’s terribly excited, but not scared in the least. The thought that the wait might finally be over fires up little warm sparks underneath his skin.

He watches with bated breath as the handle slowly turns, then as the door sways open. He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Crowley walking—well, _slithering_ in.

Then, there’s a sharp noise to his left, like the cracking of a whip, and a crash before the room is plunged into darkness. Aziraphale abruptly realises his abat-jour is no longer on the bedside table. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately turns his attention back to the foot of the bed.

In the dark, he can only see in the brief moments when lightning erupts outside and illuminates the room in white light.

A hand appears slowly over the edge of his bed. Its black claws dig into the duvet, tearing the fabric apart, and Aziraphale licks his lips, squirming against the pillow. He stares at it, fascinated, gripping the book he was reading. Little by little the long, elegant fingers of the clawed hand are followed by a slender arm, then a bare shoulder, and finally the serpent himself appears over the edge.

Crowley’s hair covers most of his face, but on the next flash of lighting Aziraphale can see a single piercing eye, golden from corner to corner, fixed on him, unblinking.

There’s a moment of utter stillness. Aziraphale doesn’t move, barely breathes, doesn’t try to speak. Crowley stares at him, the muscles in his arm tense in wait.

It’s when the loud rumble of a thunder distracts Aziraphale and he glances out of the window for a split second that Crowley moves to strike.

It’s a rush of movement, all at once. Suddenly the book is tumbling off the bed and Crowley is close to him, over him, his fangs ripping through Aziraphale’s pyjamas on his inner thigh, on his side, at his shoulder. Quick hands sneak underneath his shirt and pull until it splits apart at the seams, until Aziraphale’s entire chest is exposed.

Crowley’s tongue curls around a nipple, wet and hot and rough, and Aziraphale whimpers as he tries to raise one hand to reach him - only to be immediately grabbed at the wrist and stopped, while the considerable weight of Crowley’s tail firmly pins him down against the bed.

He gasps at the barely there caress of claws against his cheek, the unexpectedly tender touch coming as a complete surprise, but he has no time to process that before Crowley’s hand slips behind his head, grabs at his hair and forces him to tilt his head back, so that the demon can clamp his lips under his jaw and begin sucking the delicate skin of his neck. He must be leaving purple marks all over - he’s _marking_ him, Aziraphale realises with a sudden thrill of excitement that courses through his entire body.

Crowley presses down against him, grinding, so that Aziraphale can now feel both of his cocks through whatever’s left of his nightclothes. His own cock twitches in response, half-hard only because he hasn’t properly had time yet.

He tries to sneak a hand between them, he’d like to touch one of Crowley’s cocks, maybe give him pleasure just like he did the other day in the bathroom - but the demon hisses angrily against his jugular and rolls them over.

“Crowley, we’re going to—”

Before he can finish warning him they’re toppling off the edge of the mattress and onto the carpet. Crowley’s body breaks his fall, his tail coiled tightly around Aziraphale’s waist keeping him on top, keeping him close, keeping him safe.

He’d like to thank him, but as soon as they hit the floor Crowley is already slithering downwards, teeth tracing a path down Aziraphale’s body, from his throat to his solar plexus to the swell of his stomach, until he can press his open, hungry mouth to the angel’s cock through the fabric that still holds between them. Aziraphale shoves both hands into the carpet, feeling his cock filling in completely against Crowley’s lips until it’s a hard, heavy ache between his legs.

Crowley growls - a deep, low vibration that Aziraphale feels sharply against his erection. Through his addled mind he realises it’s maybe a growl of frustration, because the demon can’t quite reach naked skin like that. Aziraphale is about to snap his fingers to free himself from the last shreds of his clothes when he hears a ripping sound, and then Crowley is suddenly taking him into his mouth. His claws dig into the fat back of his thighs as the demon swallows him to the root and urges him to start moving.

Aziraphale blinks in the dark. He is being asked to fuck Crowley’s mouth into the carpet on their bedroom floor, and he is going to do it. It feels filthy, it feels absolutely bloody perfect, so impossibly arousing he can’t quite believe it’s happening. His head spins. It feels like a dream, to find himself here on his hands and knees, during a thunderstorm, Crowley warm and terrifying and gorgeous underneath him. Demanding he chases his own pleasure in his mouth.

When he finally nudges his hips forward the demon makes a lewd, wet noise of pleasure around his cock, his obscenely long snake tongue moving frantically - rubbing against the head of his erection, wrapping around the length, sliding out to stroke the delicate skin of his balls. At the next flash of light, Aziraphale dares look down, and the sight of Crowley’s penetrating gaze staring up at him while he thrusts his cock between his stretched pink lips is almost too much to bear.

“Crowley,” he moans, his voice broken and gravelly to his own ears. “Oh my God— _Crowley_.”

The demon groans in reply, and Aziraphale feels Crowley’s hands moving on him, reaching his buttocks and spreading him open. He expects the press of a finger inside him, is surprised when it doesn’t happen. He realises then what Crowley is trying to ask - he can’t prepare him for penetration, can he? Not with those clawed hands of his. And sure, Aziraphale could use a little miracle, but where’s the fun in that?

“Is this what you want?” He drops down to his elbows, reaches behind with one hand and conjures some oil. He brushes against Crowley’s knuckles, letting him feel the slick, slippery consistency of it, and the demon grunts approval. Aziraphale doesn’t need any more than that, he immediately slides an oily finger inside himself and begins opening up for him.

“Yes, yes,” he sighs, pushing into Crowley’s mouth and then pulling back, spearing himself on his own finger. “I’m going to be ready for you soon, love, and then you can—ah, you can do anything you want to me, oh Crowley, you can—you can do anything at all.”

Crowley’s tail, tight around his chest, pulls him up, and Aziraphale arches his back until the palm of his free hand is barely touching the carpet anymore. The very end of Crowley’s tail wraps around his neck, reaches his face, taps against the corner of his lips - Aziraphale doesn’t think twice about it, he turns towards it and lets it in.

He isn’t even sure how much Crowley can feel it, but maybe it’s not a physical sensation at all, maybe it’s the idea that Aziraphale has let his tail into his mouth that is terribly exciting - because the demon makes a startled, delighted sound as he shifts underneath him. When lightning gives him the chance to see, Aziraphale realises Crowley has dropped one hand down and is desperately stroking one of his cocks.

It would, to any onlooker, make a very weird picture - this angel on his knees, penetrating himself with his own finger while a smooth black tail holds him up in a perfect arch and ends between his lips. And what about the demon underneath him, sucking him off while roughly jerking himself off too?

Aziraphale doesn’t care. Perfect is what this is. It’s exactly what he’s been craving for so long, to be so well-fucked, no part of his body left unused, forgotten.

“Crowley, I can’t wait anymore, please—” he sobs against the serpent’s tail, and Crowley immediately grabs him by the hips and lifts him up, Aziraphale’s cock sliding out of his mouth with an obscene noise that rattles the last of the angel’s coherent thoughts out of his mind. “Right here, right now, it’s too much, I can’t—”

One of Crowley’s hands is on his face, two fingers sliding into his mouth, and Aziraphale sucks on them on instinct. They taste like Crowley’s cock. He has to reach down and snatch at himself, hold his own cock in a tight grip to avoid coming right there and then. It would be fine, if he did - his body will do what he tells him to do, but he wants to hold out just a little longer, hold on to the sweet ache of being turned on out of his mind for as long as he’s able to.

Crowley lays him on his side over the soft carpet. He lies behind him, his breath hot and quick against Aziraphale’s nape.

“Aziraphale,” he hisses, and it’s the first time the angel has heard him speak since he sneaked into their room.

“Darling.” He finds the demon’s hand, squeezes it tight. “Ruin me.”

Crowley doesn’t wait to be told twice. He sinks his fangs in the back of Aziraphale’s neck, guides him to fold one of his legs so that he can have easier access, and breaches him open, his other cock, slick with precome, sliding underneath the angel’s balls.

Aziraphale floats in a perfect state of bliss.

Crowley clings to him as he begins moving, hands and tail holding tight to him as if they could possibly get any closer, or as if the angel could run away at any moment. Not that he would, if he could. Aziraphale reaches behind himself, holding Crowley just as close in any way he can. On the floor, in the arms of his serpent, he’s never felt safer, he’s never felt better, and when Crowley grabs him at the neck, slightly constricting his breathing, he lets go completely.

Crowley picks up the pace. His thrusts inside his angels become harder, more frenzied, the head of his cock nudging at his prostate over and over until Aziraphale can’t hold back any longer. He cries his lover’s name into the darkness as he comes untouched, long, hot pulses painting the carpet in thick, white fluid.

Behind him, Crowley growls against his skin, and a moment later he’s spilling inside him, claws digging into the flesh of his hips as he does.

Aziraphale smiles. He feels nothing short of elated. He reaches back, tries to caress Crowley on a cheek - but the demon is sliding out of him already, shifting away. Aziraphale frowns in confusion, but soon he’s being seized and manhandled back towards the bed.

He’s bent over the mattress, the soft curve of his arse exposed, his arms held behind him to keep him still as Crowley falls back inside him with his other cock, fucking into his own spend with the lewdest sound Aziraphale has ever heard.

He grins as his face is shoved into the mess they’ve made of their bed. He has a long night ahead of him, and he can’t wait to try everything.

* * *

When he wakes up, it’s raining. Fat droplets tap against the bedroom windows as he slowly opens his eyes and realises it’s morning.

Crowley is curled up around him, head on Aziraphale’s stomach, tail a soft pillow behind the angel’s head and shoulders.

Aziraphale strokes his scales, finds them smooth and shiny, even more gorgeous than they were when he first saw him in their garden. Crowley stirs, blinks up at him, remembers the night they’ve just spent together, and blushes violently, hiding his face into the angel’s belly.

Aziraphale finds that unbearably adorable and can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him. He reaches out to stroke at his lover’s messy hair.

“Thank you, Crowley. That was…” He breathes in, holds his breath for a moment, and slowly breathes out as he assesses how satisfyingly sore he feels all over. “Exactly what I needed. How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Crowley mutters against his skin, which is unlike him - both to ask for food and to be ashamed of anything. But there’s always a first time for everything, Aziraphale supposes, and the demon did just show him a side of himself he thought was unlovable and dangerous. What utter nonsense. “Good, though,” Crowley adds, a moment later, tilting his head to glance at Aziraphale out of the corner of one eye. “Very good.”

“We should get breakfast then.” Aziraphale taps lightly on his arm, then strokes it up and down, slowly, enjoying the moment. “Unless you’d rather stay in bed?”

“Ngh—no, I mean—yes, sure, breakfast sounds good.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, a little concerned. “Is something the matter?”

“I, uh.” Crowley finally looks up properly, and Aziraphale can see his lovely cheeks are flushed red. He’s beautiful in the light of the morning, just as he was in the dark of the night. “That went well, didn’t it? I used to bugger off somewhere and wait for it to pass, but now… I think, maybe, I mean—perhaps I could just… let it happen, y’know?”

Aziraphale bends forward to grab him under the chin, tilt his head up, and kiss him soundly.

“I think you should let it happen as many times as you’d like.”

“You’re shameless,” Crowley laughs against his lips, a short, barking sound that makes Aziraphale feel warm inside and grin in return. “I’m ordering breakfast in. I want to stay in bed until our food is here.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale miracles Crowley’s phone for whatever corner of their cottage it had ended up in. “Can we get pancakes from that place in Kensington?”

“I don’t see why not,” Crowley replies as he taps on his phone. “I’m going to go ahead and order one of everything.”

Aziraphale watches him, heart pounding in his chest for very different reasons now, and wonders if he’s ever loved him more than he does today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Grin made a glorious little comic of this chapter that [you can read here](https://green-grin.tumblr.com/post/636862291456950272/adaptation-of-wouldst-thou-have-a-serpent-sting)! My heart ❤❤❤


End file.
